


Soulmates AU

by curanonemu



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Happy Ending, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curanonemu/pseuds/curanonemu
Summary: Choi San x Reader - Red String AUJeong Yunho x Reader - Colourblind AUChoi Jongho x Reader - Shared Dreams AUJung Wooyoung x Reader - Blooming Flowers AUKim Hongjoong x Reader - Matching Marks AUOther three to be posted soon!
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Reader, Choi Jongho/You, Choi San/Reader, Choi San/You, Jeong Yunho/Reader, Jeong Yunho/You, Jung Wooyoung/Reader, Jung Wooyoung/You, Kim Hongjoong/Reader, Kim Hongjoong/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 93





	1. Choi San - Red String AU

San’s eyes rove over the crowd again, trying to see if he can find the other end, but as always, his string disappears somewhere, tangled with no other end in sight.

He massages his finger absently.

The end attached to his finger looks more and more frayed as days pass. Almost as if they’re about to let go, whoever they are.

He doesn’t want that. But he can’t do anything.

He wishes it were as easy as telling them it’s alright, it’ll be fine. But it’s not. And he can see the string turning dull, an old, rusted red.

It makes him sad.

He’s trying his hardest, but at the back of his mind, he’s always wondering if the other end is still the bright, vibrant red that he’s trying to project. If that’s already lost, then he doesn’t know what’ll work.

San doesn’t want to lose his soulmate without even meeting them.

He blinks, shaking his head imperceptibly to drive away the thought. It’s fine, it’s just another day when he gets through with his business in the world without his other half.

Somewhere, out there, they’re probably thinking of him too; he shouldn’t lose hope. After all, the fact that the string still exists implies that they care. And that’s all he needs.

Knowing they care.

He also needs them to know that he cares, possibly much more than he should. But the other end should give his soulmate the same message.

Sometimes, he wishes he was like his friend Hongjoong, with the ability to communicate with his soulmate, if even in the slightest. Or even

Jongho. Though that scares him; he’s not sure he’d be able to share such a bond with a person only to be ripped away from them in the blink of an eye (quite literally).

In one way or another, he feels like all his friends have it better than him. He shouldn’t think that, of course. They’re all varying levels of sensitive, it’s not fair for him to be resentful. Mingi’s soulmate doesn’t even seem to like him; San can’t imagine how the poor boy would feel if he ever met them.

He makes his way through the crowd, slipping into the building soon enough.

He just wants to meet _his_ soulmate. He just wants to _be_ with his soulmate.

And all he can do at present is _hope_ that they don’t give up on him. The colour of the string scares him.

_Stop, San. You’re not supposed to be thinking of this._

He forces himself to smile. Smiles are good, they’re positive.

At that moment, Wooyoung pokes his head out from under the counter, and San actually laughs. The other boy spits out a petal and glares at him. “Sure, let’s laugh at him because he inhales pollen all the time.”

San laughs harder, but it still sends a pang of _something_ through him, seeing the daffodils. It happens only when Wooyoung and his soulmate feel the same emotion, and the flowers are a pretty good indication of their shared emotion.

 _Happiness_.

Wooyoung’s ears are already red, San has eyes.

“Let’s laugh at him because he’s been looking for

the other end of his string but he can’t see that far.” He says in return, and predictably, Wooyoung lets out a shriek, dissolving into laughter.

As long as someone’s happy.

San spends the next few minutes organising the shelves, stroking petals lovingly as he arranges leaves, making sure they don’t get tangled up with each other.

He likes working here. Being a florist had been his dream since he was a child, despite him not owning the shop. Perhaps he could, one day in the future when he doesn’t have silly things to deal with, and has a nice, heavy wallet to back his whims up.

The door opens, and San allows Wooyoung to deal with the customer, choosing to give his full attention to flowers instead.

It’s only when he hears someone choking that he tears his attention away from his babies.

It’s ironic that Wooyoung isn’t the best receptor to pollen, when he literally grows flowers out of his skin.

Plastering on his best smile, San turns to address the customer, belatedly wondering why Wooyoung seems perfectly _fine_ , but the words die down in his throat.

Standing next to the counter is you, and San can see the string on your little finger. It leads right back to his hand, hanging limp by his side.

No wonder Wooyoung wasn’t coughing. He doesn’t even know what’s just transpired, the string invisible to all but the ones who are tied by it.

San stares at you, and you stare back, neither able to utter a word. Your eyes flit down to his hand, and he shifts defensively as he curls his finger inward, trying to hide the string the best he can.

“Oh.” The word finally leaves your mouth, and San’s ears zone in on it, skin prickling.

“I was about to give up.”

The words wash over him like icy water, and it takes physical effort to not let his face contort with the pain his heart is currently feeling.

“I almost can’t believe I found you again.” You keep going, and the words reach San, but he can’t understand, he’s still stuck on _I was about to give up_.

You quieten down too, and that’s when his brain catches up. Or his mouth does, he can’t really tell. “What if you hadn’t?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Wooyoung is shuffling away from the counter and going over to the storage room, and San appreciates him for that.

You give a weak smile, and San _can’t_ look at you.

“Then I guess you’d have stayed with that ugly colour for longer.”

He looks down at his hand; sure enough, the string no longer looks worn out. It looks _loving_ , as weird as that is, and it threatens to make emotion well up in him that he does not want to deal with. Not right now.

But his mind goes back to how it used to look, and all that he felt for it. “Don’t.” He says, swallowing around a lump in his throat, “Don’t call it ugly. It’s not, and it wasn’t. I liked it, however it was. Even if you were going to give up.”

The last sentence is cutting, and he wishes he could take it back but he can’t, and he supposes that’s fine, with the way you’ve hurt him. But it’s also _not fine at all_ , the way his heart squeezes and hurts and makes it hard for him to breathe. He can’t forgive himself for saying something like that.

Instead, your smile brightens, and San’s hit by a wave of fondness, and he hates himself a bit for getting swayed so easily. Only when it comes to his soulmate.

“I’d give up only on finding you actively. I could try and love you from afar till we met again, instead of searching for you ever since I got a glimpse of you, weeks back. I must say it’s quite unfair, you walk way too fast.”

The ground seems to wobble under his feet, and San is dragged back to the day when he’d been out with Mingi, and he’d had enough of his friend’s yapping and walked away, even though his heart had felt so heavy, as if he were walking away from _home_. That was the last day the string had had the rich colour that’s slowly come back to it.

He meets your eyes again.

You still smile at him.

And San still loves you.

He cracks a smile back, before crossing the distance across the room.

He takes your hand in his, watching as your fingers intertwine with his, the string hilariously short now; one end tied around your finger, the other around his.

Then he’s pulling you to him, enveloping you in his arms and allowing himself to hold you for the first time.


	2. Jeong Yunho - Colourblind AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s just fine without seeing colours. He’s happy the way he is.
> 
> Then a day comes when he meets you, and it all starts making sense to him. Why people want soulmates, the pull they feel, why people say soulmates complete them - he understands.

Yunho’s never really had a problem with how he sees the world. People with the same disposition complain that it’s a dull, monochromatic world - saddening. He doesn’t feel any of that.

To him, the world is full of colours; shades of grey that complement each other beautifully. So what if they’re technically the same colour? Beauty isn’t about how many colours you see, it’s about _what_ you see. In his opinion, things don’t have to be colourful to be vibrant, full of life.

Songs about colours fascinate him, but they don’t produce _longing_. He doesn’t want to find out if love really feels red, or if loss feels blue and happiness feels… yellow?

He doesn’t need to find out how bright the sun shines some days. He can feel the intensity anyway.

He’s living his life perfectly fine. In fact, it’s great, with his family and friends. He appreciates knowing that somewhere out there, his soulmate exists, who he can meet one day and possibly fall in love with. But till then, he’s going to live his life to the fullest without getting bothered by such things.

That’s what love is about, isn’t it? Pushing each other to be better without hinderance or force? Yunho understands _love_ enough, even if he doesn’t have an all-consuming curiosity for soulmates. Why should he hold himself back from living, just for the sake of agonising over soulmates and colours?

He’s _just_ fine without seeing colours. He’s happy the way he is.

Then a day comes when he meets you, and it all starts making sense to him. Why people want soulmates, the pull they feel, why people say soulmates complete them - he understands.

One of his friends wants to bail out on a blind date, begging Yunho to take his place. “They won’t even know!” is what he says, but Yunho has his doubts. Turning up to the date instead of his friend would amount to fooling the other person, wouldn’t it?

He goes anyway, because Yunho doesn’t know how to say no. So there he sits in a café, waiting for his date to show up as his leg bounces nervously. He sits for a while, and a waitress even asks him if he wants anything, but he refuses. Eventually, someone arrives, and when they come to stand next to the table, Yunho has _no courage_ to look up. Instead, he takes in a deep breath and blurts out a confession. “I’m sorry, my friend was supposed to meet you but he decided not to, and he asked me to come in his place, and I did. I wasn’t supposed to tell you all this, but that’s like lying to you, and I don’t feel good.” Surely, they must’ve talked? Yunho can’t pretend to be Seonghwa.

Silence. That’s all he gets. When it gets too uncomfortable, him with his head down as he stares hard at the ground, and the other person probably glaring at him, he has to resign himself to look up at the person. Surely, they’re mad at him _and_ One Very Bad Friend. He steels his nerves and lifts his head. It promptly lolls forward again as his world seems to spin.

His head hurts, seemingly overloaded, but why, when all he’s done is sit and apologise? He dares to look up again, and his blind date is still looking at him wordlessly.

And then it registers. His eyes widen, and he tries to look away but he _can’t_ , not when your eyes are the most mesmerising pair he’s ever come across, the colours in them _so beautiful_. No shade of gray can ever come close to what he’s seeing, unable to tear his own eyes away.

It’s something he’s never seen before.

It’s as if his whole surroundings have changed, the chairs a rich red and tables the colour of wood. Even the water looks so startlingly colourful, despite being clear. It’s too much, and yet-

Yet, compared to you, it’s nothing.

You’re the most beautiful person he’s seen, a masterpiece, made out of the finest colours in the world and Yunho’s heart is _singing_.

While Yunho’s had an epiphany which makes him feel a thousand years have passed, it’s only a few moments in reality, and you finally open your mouth, “I’m glad.”

It’s the sweetest voice he’s heard, and his hands involuntarily come up to rub at his ears, only belatedly realising what he’s doing when he sees your lips twitch. He flushes, but you’re _laughing_ and he’s willing to watch as you change from a goddess to the whole universe.

“I’m glad I don’t have to call you an idiot, either.” You say once your laughter subsides, and then it’s Yunho’s turn to laugh as he figures what must’ve transpired between you and Seonghwa, and why his friend sent him instead.

“All I’m glad for is that I agreed to coming here.” He comments, and you both fall silent, just looking at each other for a minute.

“Want to order something and get out?” You ask, and it’s more of a request than a suggestion, he can tell. Outside is something you’ve both seen, but never seen before. The café is beautiful, but what about the world outside? Yunho can’t wait to see it. He wants to see you among the flowers he’s only ever seen as soft hues of gray.

He waits while you order, letting you choose his drink too, and then you walk towards the door, stopping as you look at each other once more. He smiles, slips his free hand into yours and you walk out together.

That day, he finds out just how green leaves really are, just how white some flowers are, just how blue the vast sky is. And oh, how insanely yellow the sun is, though he ends up shielding his eyes and your pretty ones too.

Sometimes, he wonders how his life would’ve been, had he not met you.

He can’t imagine what it’d be like seeing your face in hues of gray, not when he can make out the colours in your eyes and the way the sun shines on you. He can’t imagine seeing you face flushed _gray_ , nor your lips being a pretty _gray_. You’d probably make it work, colours just make it so much better.

But that’s secondary.

Somewhere, in his heart, he knows that even if you weren’t meant to be his other half, he’d still love you just as much. Because there’s something about you - everything - which the visible spectrum is just not enough to capture.

The way you laugh at the smallest, silliest things, the way you smile at him, call his name or shout gleefully when you’re happy. He doesn’t need colours for that. _You_ make colours burst up within him and cloud his mind.

The way you seem to magnetically pull his eyes on you, the centre of attention; he can spend hours listening to you and he’ll never get tired.

When he’s holding you tightly from behind, close to his heart, and you turn back slightly to loop your arm around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek, making him feel invincible in that moment, like you’re the only two people in the world, all he ever needs.

Yunho never took himself for a sap. But with you, _that’s all he is_. You mean the world to him, you _are_ his world. He doesn’t need colours to know that.

He sees your smile, and it all makes sense to him.


	3. Choi Jongho - Shared Dreams AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His fingertips land on your cheek, and he finds himself in his room again, eyes fluttering open as he’s ripped out of his dream.
> 
> He’s quiet for a moment, before he exhales, disappointed. It’s always at the crucial moments that he’s woken up.
> 
> He didn’t always dream of you.

He’s in the same place, they’re both there again. Long, sprawling hills, sky a light rosy hue, grass stretching on endlessly, it all melts into one vague blur as he tries to focus further; Jongho can’t make out anything else.

Except you.

You’re standing in front of him, just like always, with all his focus on you, and he looks at your outstretched hand. It’s inviting, incredibly so, along with the smile that plays on your face, and Jongho feels uncharacteristically shy.

Your smile grows wider and you wiggle your fingers as he purses his lips, and he pretends that the tinge on his face is due to the light from some distant star that he can’t possibly name.

He huffs lowly, before stepping forward and grabbing your hand. It’s soft, warm against his own and Jongho can feel the warmth spreading upwards, his arm tingling. Hand in hand, they walk together, over the grass which seems to never end, and he wonders just how long he’s been walking with you in this place which he’s never seen, yet knows inexplicably better than even his home.

He wonders how he knows _you_ , when he’s never met you. His waking moments are spent pondering upon that very question.

Eventually, you halt, and Jongho looks at you questioningly. He follows your gaze to see a picnic blanket and basket laid out under a tree. It all seems to have appeared out of thin air. The tree hadn’t been there a moment back, either.

“Why are we here?” He wants to ask, but the words don’t leave his mouth. He’s not sure he’d be able to let out any sound even if he tried.

You turn to him, eyes sparkling, and Jongho feels a surge of affection within. Your grip on his hand tightens, and you start walking again, eagerly dragging him and he lets himself get carried forward.

You slip your hand out of his only to sit down on the blanket, and he falters for a moment, not sure if he should join you before deciding that, yes, he should.

You spend the next few minutes looking around, gesturing animatedly to things that keep popping out of nowhere, soft petals raining down, butterflies, a few stray leaves. And Jongho spends all that time looking at you, looking at the way your hair falls slightly into your eyes despite your numerous efforts to push it away, looking at the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you smile just the slightest. He wants to touch your face, feel it with his hands even as he commits it all to memory, and he’s about to indulge himself.

His fingertips land on your cheek, and he finds himself in his room again, eyes fluttering open as he’s ripped out of his dream.

He’s quiet for a moment, before he exhales, disappointed. It’s always at the crucial moments that he’s woken up.

He didn’t always dream of you. There was a time when he slept through nights dreamlessly, or dreamt of things that he can’t even remember anymore. He did dream of a stranger during the day, the rare times when he napped. But it stopped around three years back.

Since then, his nights have been full of dreams of you, and when he’s too tired during the day, his naps are devoid of dreams, or his dreams; devoid of you. He wonders why the pattern has been reversed.

Shutting his eyes for some more moments yields no result. Resigned, he pulls himself out of his bed, deciding to go through his day instead.

The next seventeen or so hours are pretty much uneventful, till he gets into bed at around midnight.

-

He’s in the same place. But you’re not.

He tosses and turns in his sleep, eyebrows knitted even has he continues to slumber, and it’s only when the early morning sun shines through his window that his eyes open. For the first time in ages, he’s woken up not because he can’t be with you any longer, but because he just couldn’t find you.

Elsewhere, in a hospital, the doctors declare you to be in a state of coma.

-

He’s been walking for hours now, reaching the same place over and over again before a new path opens up, only for him to arrive at his initial position. He’s never been here before, branches drooping with leaves frosted over as the trees cast dark shadows on the ground. It’s cold, incredibly so and he wonders exactly how much longer he’ll be here, how many weeks he must spend here before the figurative snow thaws, the sun comes up and flowers bloom again.

He’s tired. Lonely. It feels like he’s looking for something, and at moments he feels like he’s almost found it, but then he turns back, or hurries over the hills to where he expects to find it, but there’s nothing. There’s not a trace of what he wants, and he’s starting to believe that his mind is playing tricks on him.

Perhaps the place had always looked like this, but he’d just never paid enough attention to notice it. Not when he had you next to him, smiling like a ray of light in a place so lonely without you. Where was the pink sky, the flowers which floomed and the fluttering butterflies?

Where were you?

It’s been days since he last saw you.

Jongho is scared.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait for long. He stirs as his slumber breaks, and he wakes up, ready to face another day with nothing more than emotional exhaustion and a glaring lack of your presence.

-

One of his co-workers is in the hospital in the next district because of some issues, and Jongho gets roped into visiting him. He’s still worried and more than a little upset about the lack of his favourite person in his dreams, but when everyone requests it of him, he can’t refuse. He doesn’t really have a valid reason that he can give, anyway. _“Sorry, the person of my dreams is missing and it sets me on edge,”_ isn’t really something he can say with a straight face.

He takes the train to the district, then walks from the station to the hospital. He already has a map, and with the help of a few kind strangers, it isn’t long before he reaches his destination. Relieved, he looks around for a moment. For a hospital, the place sure looks uplifting. Maybe it’s because of the small flowers and leaves adorning the sidewalk, shucked off from the trees as their branches sway in the wind. Yeah, that’s really not how he remembers other hospitals.

He enters, asking the receptionist for directions and she gives him a pass, allowing him to go up to the floor where his co-worker’s room is situated.

Jongho spends the next few minutes making small talk with the other man, and he thanks him, laughing awkwardly. He’s not too banged up, and he even says so, nervously admitting that the other person involved in the accident suffered way more. Jongho still eyes the casts on his leg and shoulder skeptically, and his co-worker waves off the look with his free hand. “You should see the other person. For real. I’d feel better if you went and visited them. I can’t move yet so I’ve not gone, and I get the feeling their family won’t be too happy to see me. But please go and visit them for me, Jongho-ssi.”

Jongho sighs. Nothing to be done when an injured person asks something of him. He ends up nodding, and bowing one last time as he leaves the room. He goes back to the front desk, smiling at the receptionist innocently and asking where the other accident survivor is. They’ve survived, surely?

It’s only when he’s in front of the ICU that he understands what his co-worker meant. Yeah, compared to broken bones, a coma is far worse.

And the only reason Jongho’s allowed to _enter_ the room is because the patient’s parents all but push him in. They seem to recognise him for some unknown reason, and he understands soon enough, when he’s in the room, in front of the patient.

The person who’s been missing from his dreams has manifested themselves in the real world, lying on the hospital bed with equipment supporting them.

He stares, a bit stunned and a lot light-headed, at the person who lies on the bed.

It’s you.

You, with your face which he’s always wanted to touch, caress with his hands, and your hands which he’s always held while walking with you to the ends of the world. They’re stretched out at your side, and his own hands twitch in response to the memories that resurface. With your hair flared out on the white pillow, akin to a halo as it frames your head, you look a little like an angel.

Just like in his dreams.

Yet, you’re totally different from his dreams.

You’re pale, unnaturally so, with the IV stuck into your hand delivering weird, concerning but essential things into you. Your face looks peaceful, but it doesn’t have the radiance that it possesses in Jongho’s deeams, and his heart clenches painfully in his rib cage.

Is this why he’s not seen you in his dreams recently? He realises it’s been a week and two days now, around the same time when his co-worker got into the accident. No wonder you’ve not had time to jump into his dreams when you’re fighting to just have some of your own.

He turns, unable to look at you and his met with your parents’ eyes. “How’d you know it’s me?” He asks, because it’s the only thing he can bring himself to utter.

One of them pulls out a folded piece of paper, unfolding it before his eyes as he stares. It’s a sketch of his own face, and Jongho’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’re the child’s favourite thing to draw.”

Jongho leaves the room after that, throat too tight to want to stay there; not when your parents looked like they were just waiting for him to get out so they could cry again.

He just goes back once to see his co-worker, asking them _where_ he was when the accident happened. Jongho needs to extend his trip to this district, and he’s okay with it. With that in mind, he gets out of the hospital and hails a taxi for his destination.

It’s just an old roadside market, set up against a row of residential buildings. He sits down on the steps leading up to one of the shops, and waits.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. At first glance, anyway. But the longer he stays there, the more convinced he gets that something is unusual about the place. He feels goosebumps on his arms as the wind blows, the evening getting colder as the sun sets, nighttime setting in and clouds floating by, obstructing stars periodically. He leans against the wall, watching as the shops shut down one by one, and it’s only when the owner of the shop he’s using as shelter looks at him impatiently that Jongho gets up and forces himself to walk.

He’s going to look for you as long as you need him to.

He walks past a narrow alleyway, and for a moment it feels like the air gets especially warm, then back to the biting cold that’s settling into Jongho’s bones through his thin shirt.

He turns around, and the urge to go backwards gets even stronger, pulling at his gut and making his feet carry him in front of the alleyway again. But something stops him from going inside. It’s like an invisible wall in front of him obstructing him from entering the darkness.

And then he’s reminded of his home, his parents, his life that he’s almost put on hold to chase the unreasonable thoughts in his head.

He turns around, irritated at himself, and walks down the dimly lit road, all the while cursing his inability to do anything. But what can he even do? He’s barely even an adult.

Should he take the train back home? That’ll be inconvenient, his mind provides, and he’s ashamed to admit that he thinks that only because he doesn’t want to be away from you. The next moment he berates himself for being ashamed. So what if he wants to be near you? Jongho is _entitled_ to want to be close to you; you’re his soulmate for god’s sake. He shakes his head, walks till he reaches the busy roads again, specifically the one where the hospital is situated.

In a split-second decision, he enters the building opposite to the hospital, and sets out all the money that he has onto the counter. Hotel rooms for one night are surprisingly not that expensive.

He makes a call to his parents, lying through his teeth about meeting up with a friend and crashing at his house, and the second he’s in his room, he flops down on the bed. When his head hits the pillow, it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s pulled under his dreams.

-

He’s in the same place, branches drooping even as the trees shed more of their leaves, sky greying, and Jongho walks briskly, trying not to focus on the cold ground under his shoes which makes his feet the slightest bit numb. He’s going in circles again, almost, over one hill and then the next, and reaching the first again by some forsaken chance. And he’s starting to get tired. He wants to get away.

Nevertheless, there’s something crawling up his spine, whispering into his ear, goading him and he wants to prove to it that he can _stay_ here.

And so he does, trying to entertain himself with memories of you as he walks around the desolate land.

He remembers your face. How it’d looked in the hospital as you lied still, unaware of the rest of the world. How it’d looked in his dreams, when your eyes had been trained solely on him. Or how it’d looked when you were looking at something other than him, eyes lighting up in excitement and interest.

He remembers your hands. How they’d looked, still and unmoving, and how they’d felt when they were in his own, fingers intertwined with yours.

He remembers how he’d thought you looked like an angel in the room with so much white. He thinks of how you always look like an angel, even with the brightest of colours that’d painted their world of dreams.

Cold or not, dull, hopeless or not, endlessly repetitive or not, he just wants to walk with you. In this place, and in the place that he used to inhabit with you. And in the world where you’re separated from each other by the distance of a mere district. In the world where he’s alive and breathing, and you’re monitored by doctors trying to save you. Where he’s standing next to you, watching you while you’ve escaped to some place far away from your mind.

He calls out your name for the first time, letting it echo in the place. To think that he even knows your name now, but you don’t know his fills him with a sense of urgency.

He calls out _again_ , louder this time, letting the sound travel farther.

Like the flame of a candle growing against winds that try to put it out, he sees your figure in the distance, staring back at him with emotions in your eyes that he cannot decipher.

He almost trips over his feet as he hurries over to you, afraid that it’s but a mirage, a figment of his imagination that’s crying from your absence. But as he draws closer, you don’t disappear; your presence just gets stronger till he can _feel_ you as he stops some feet away from you.

You look at him, he looks at you. Wordlessly. Then you crack a smile and wiggle your fingers, and Jongho’s lower lip trembles slightly.

“You found me.”

They’re the first words he’s heard from you; he’s heard your voice now.

He nods. Mustering up the courage, he responds. “I’ve been looking for days.”

“I know,” you reply, still smiling, and Jongho steps forward. It’s a big risk he’s taking - you might just disappear again. But he reaches out and places a hand on your arm. Nothing happens.

Right, that’s safe territory. His raises his hand again, pressing it lightly to your cheek, and your eyes get even brighter as your smile widens. He breathes out.

“Don’t go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, shrugging, looking around casually.

“You have to come back, please.” He tries again, stepping even closer, slowly, as if approaching a spooked animal. He’s not one for physical displays of affection, but he swallows his pride and traps you in his arms as he hugs you for the first time. He can do that much for the person he l… likes being with.

“But I’m here. Right here, next to you, in our world. There’s just us here, isn’t it so peaceful?” You pull back, smiling at him encouragingly, and he shakes his head vehemently.

“I’m not the only one that needs you. You… you’re so important to so many people, you can’t just stay here.”

You look at him questioningly, head tilted as you go over his words before frowning. “What about you?”

Ah, the million-dollar question. To be brave or to be a chicken who can’t admit to his own feelings; that is the question.

“I… I need you there too, in the real world. I can’t just see you at night, please.” The plea slips out with another call of your name, and Jongho tries not to wince at the way your eyes glimmer with tears.

He doesn’t know how to talk. He’s never been good at that. All he can try now is express himself through actions, even though that’s something he’s never been good at, either.

He pulls you into his arms again, holding you tight as he buries his face in your hair.

“Come back. I’ll be there.” He mumbles.

He swallows back the lump in his throat when he feels your head move against his cheek. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wishes he could wake up from this dream _with you_. And if not with you, then he wants to never wake up.

-

Jongho’s eyes snap open as he lies in the hotel room, sweating as a shudder goes through his body. He’s breathing heavily, exhausted, head spinning, but he forces himself to rip away the sheets and stumble over to the window overlooking the hospital.

After nine days and eleven hours of being comatose, as the doctors and nurses mill about, conversing frantically, you finally open your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr @curanonemu.


End file.
